Tender Definitions
by Zing-baby
Summary: A reckless choice of words has Cahllie Tabris questioning just where she stands regarding her Antivan Crow. But the intentions of a trained assasin are not easily deciphered...


**Well, as we all know, BioWare is frakking BRILLIANT! And who would I be if I didn't write for Dragon Age? It DID take over my life for like a week. :D Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

**Please Review! I miss you guys!**

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**Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Dragon Age or it's associated characters. **

**Tender Definitions**

"_I was wrong. There is a tenderness in the way he is with you that I hadn't seen before."_

It was strange now to hear Wynne had changed her mind about my… thing, with Zevran. I was beginning to think that maybe her initial instinct had been correct. I could fool myself, pretend that I had my handsome Antivan all to myself, but I had felt, at least at first that our outrageous flirting was all our relationship would ever be.

Zevran was a man built on taking what he could in the moment, not on expectations. It was an admirable trait even, if that didn't also mean that there could be no commitment to any one thing or person, no matter how short term. But even that had been fine with me. After all, as I progressed further and further towards the end of my journey, I began to realize what I was really trying to do, and the immensity of it. And the lack of real chance for my survival.

Zevran was strong, in more ways than one. Despite him getting his ass kicked by a woman upon our meeting, he held a kind of self discipline that was difficult to see with an untrained eye. But I saw the restraint in his eyes each time he described to me the ways Antivan crows were bought and bred into service. His life had been all masks and mirages of happiness, but nothing true like I remembered from my home in the alienage.

Home to Zevran was as fragile and weak and false as the personalities of the very whores that had raised him. I could picture him easily in a crowded room of half clad women, all notions aside that I would prefer not to. But I could imagine him there, smirking to himself over one dirty thought or another.

Even as I watched him out of the corner of my eye as we traveled amid the various venues of Ferelden, there was something in the way he moved that was easy and smooth. Zevran knew the rules to any engagement, violent or passionate (sometimes both in the same moment), and he played his cards well accordingly.

I had known this when I had first grabbed him by the hand and led him to my tent. And I knew the game well enough to make sure my sub-conscious knew the real reason for our closeness. He was simple, predictable, and a good way to end a stressful day. He demanded nothing from me but was always ready to provide warmth when I needed it, no questions asked.

And that was the other thing… he didn't ask questions. He didn't try to pry, and he didn't dwell on things that neither of us could change.

It was all that a grey warden could ask for. He was a companion, but not a burden. A lover, but not a commitment. We had held nothing back when speaking our minds, fighting our foes, or enjoying the pleasure of a heated body in the middle of the night.

When Wynne had asked me where it was going a week or so ago, I had told her simply that I didn't understand why it had to go anywhere. He was fun, and I took joy in his forwardness. He offered little tact and required none in return, and I loved that.

But now, as she admitted me that perhaps she had changed her mind, that she saw it as potentially more, I wondered if he had changed his too.

Truthfully, after our first week of midnight rendezvous in the camp, I knew I would not be at risk from _his_ blade ever again. After that, I informed him outright that he was able to take his leave whenever he felt like, and that I would hold him to no oath. I held no fear for my life with him, and I knew he missed home- probably the only thing in this world to hold a true piece of his heart.

But he did not go.

What had changed?

"_I was wrong. There is a tenderness in the way that he is with you that I hadn't seen before."_

The way Wynne said the word 'tender', had made me more curious than I should've been. In fact, I was so perplexed by the term that when I woke up the next morning to find he had actually slept through the night with me for the first time, my mind began scrambling for a definition of the word.

Laying there I tried to label his intentions. He had his hand draped very low beneath my abdomen, open palmed, and fingers spread beneath my belly button, holding my lower half snug against his groin. That was clearly sexual, even in his sleep.

But, I could feel his lips pressed against my lower neck, his breath sweeping down the planes of my back, as he seemed to have nuzzled his face into me while we slept. But that wasn't lustful… if anything it was… what? Affectionate? Sweet?

I felt my face scrunch in confusion. Stretching slowly I turned onto my other side, towards him, and snuggled down, my face finding the nook between his chin and his collarbone.

With me turned into him his hand was now sub-consciously cupping my rear, and I felt his thumb rub slowly back and forth over my skin. Sexual.

But, even so, he tilted his head to cradle the way mine was laying into him. Affectionate.

I was still confused. Tentatively, I pressed my lips against his skin and slowly kissed his neck, just to see how he would react.

He 'hmmm'ed approvingly and squeezed me tighter against him, but on the other hand, he didn't pursue any promise of adrenaline that kiss may have implied, he just… _hugged_ me.

"Good morning." I pressed, searching for some kind of indication to his thoughts. I pulled my face back to watch his golden brown eyes flit awake sleepily.

"It's morning?"

Sexual then, I concluded. He hadn't meant to spend the whole night.

"Yep." I said easily, stroking his bare back with my fingertips beneath our one blanket.

"Hmmm..." Slowly he retracted himself from me and sat up. I laid back and stretched out luxuriously beneath the extra amount of fur blanket his movement had allowed me.

As my muscles whined against the stretch I groaned slightly, and he looked back over his shoulder at me. Slowly his eyes raked over my body, and I could almost see him imagining the rest of the image, covered as it was by my wolf pelt blanket.

"Now _that_," His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows rose, as they usually did when he observed something he found particular appealing. "Looks like a very good morning indeed."

He came back and laid his body over mine, a fold in the fur preventing us from being flesh on flesh, but still his weight leaned pleasantly against my body as his lips playfully teased my ear.

At first I thought I might get a morning adrenaline dose after all, but after only a few moments he retreated again, and quickly began gathering his gear together and pulling on his armor.

I watched him while he went about getting ready, and secretly reveled in the way his fingers grazed over his prized Antivan boots, a gift that I had 'acquired' for him.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but I must go." He said quickly, crawling back to me for a quick kiss on my cheek before heading swiftly to the exit.

That was all he said, and he was gone. And with only a kiss on the cheek. Perhaps Wynne had been wrong in her assessment that something had bloomed between us. He seemed the same man I had invited into my tent weeks ago.

Did that bother me? I wasn't sure. I was surprised to see him still with me in the morning, but not _uncomfortable_ with it. If anything I was uncomfortable with his quick escape. He should trust me to know that it didn't mean anything that he had stayed. He obviously had just been exhausted and dozed off shortly after our bout. That didn't mean I would expect him to stay every time now, he must know that much at least. I am not as easily attached as Leliana, or as easily offended as Morrigan.

The grey color outside the tent allowed me to guesstimate I could probably put off getting up for at least another hour, so of course I did, snuggling in the warmth left my Zevran's body. He was a heat generator unlike any other. I wondered if it was just him or all men that put off so much body heat, but Zev was nothing if not hot-blooded. Either way, I closed my eyes, and curled myself into his place, the smell of his skin lingering ever so slightly. I easily dozed off.

When I woke next I heard the quiet shuffling of the others beginning to go about their various daily activities. Finally I roused myself from the comfort of my warm cocoon and shrugged myself back into my leather armor. I ran my hands over my hair quickly to smooth it as much as possible before peeking my head out of the tent flap.

Upon my emergence, Brehgo lifted his big brown head and barked lightly to greet me. I smiled at him and searched the camp for my other companions. Alistair poked groggily at the barely smoking fire pit, his hair still sticking out at odd angles, Leliana hummed soothingly to herself while she fed Schmooples, the over-sized mole from Orzimmar that she just *had* to have, and Wynne was doing her morning ritual of generally tiding up, as she usually did, like a mother hen. However, a polite mother hen that knew better than to actually encroach on anyone's personal space. I could see Morrigan across the way, standing contemplative and observant as always, Ohgren and Shale were chatting (Ohgren slurredly. Drinking already? Or just still drunk? I never knew) with Bodahn, or rather our 'pet merchant' as we liked to call him… But I did not see hide nor hair of our large and rather intimidating friend Sten.

It was then I remembered that is was Wednesday, which meant Sten and Zevran were in charge of hunting down breakfast this morning.

I suddenly felt sheepish about how much I had tried to read into Zevran's motives this morning. Even as I stepped out into the dawn I shook my head at my foolishness. Still… I couldn't help but wonder…

* * *

Frustratingly, I spent the following day trying to decipher how he felt, and how I would feel, if we were in fact heading in a… more emotional direction. After all, the whole reason I had so fluidly fallen into step with Zevran was because of the simplicity of his low-maintenance nature. This new… development, was complicating though. And Wynne, for her part, seemed to allow me to catch her smile as she observed something she thought would prove her point that he was in fact changing…

As a result, over the course of time I began looking for her half-smirking cues, for what she thought indicated a deeper emotion than she had expected. I caught a small light in her eyes, when he gently tucked my dark hair behind my pointed ear so he could lean into whisper to me. Was this what she thought was tenderness? Would she think the same thing if she knew he were whispering to me about a possible easy pick-pocketing mark a few feet ahead?

I began observing his actions more throughout the day, and yes, the irony was not lost on me that I had chosen Zevran precisely so I would _not_ come to behave like this.

When fighting, he would frequently place a hand on my neck and guide me smoothly into a timely duck while he took an attack of opportunity of my opponent. I supposed it looked protective, but until now it had meant nothing more to me than a tactic, perhaps even a selfish act from him: I accredited the action to a "if I can't kill her, I'm not going to let _you_" attitude.

But the lines between friend and lover blurred. They had been tight and neat, and flicked between the two only in the darkest hours of the night. Now they fuzzed and melded, becoming something new that I didn't understand. What had become of us? He told me stories of his childhood, was this an act of open friendship, or a desire to share with me, and have me understand?

Wynne's reckless choice of words made me overthink, and I was only too relieved when we reached the Dalish elves. I needed to bury myself deep into another plot, to leave all personal thoughts locked away where they belonged.

Zevran, Wynne, Lelianna and I plucked our way through the ancient flora, and I let myself become lost to the sense of urgent duty and heightened level of awarness, a different source of adrenaline allowing me to feel powerful again, predatorial, as I claimed each part of the forest, piece by piece.

When I found the Dalish Elven gloves however, hidden in a chest nestled into a burrow of low trees, Zevran flashed across my mind again. He didn't watch as I searched the container's contents, but immediately I knew that I would give the gloves to him. I recalled him telling me about his mother, and a pair she had owned once, which was the last thing he had held of hers before he was discovered, and they were taken away.

It was then I realized that I did feel _something _for my fellow elf that had went well past what I had meant to. A friend still would've given him the gloves, but only a romantic partner would picture his reaction, the smile it might elicit, the gleam that may shine in his honey warm eyes.

I was rewarded with all of these as I handed him the treasure, almost whispering that I remembered what he had said about his mother. But his smile held something else, an almost melancholy emotion, and I had wondered if I should've said anything at all. He did not speak to me beyond saying "thank you", and I wondered if I had done something wrong. We didn't get to see the 'happy but nostalgic' Zev often enough to recognize it at the time, and besides myself, no one among us would see it again.

He tucked the gloves into his pack and then stood silent, waiting for me to lead the way deeper into the forest. I tried not to furrow my brow at him as I pass him, and stalked fearlessly into the darker depths of the Brecellian wilds.

* * *

This question still pounded through my head as we sat in the Dalish camp after a full day of dealing with werewolves. The camp storyteller, Sarel, invited us all to stay and listen to a tale while the Dalish prepared a meal to thank us for our actions of the day.

I thanked him graciously for the invitation, and politely sat on the carved wooden bench, the rest of my companions following suit. Leliana was of course particularly thrilled to hear a good story, and Wynne was about ready for a rest anyway.

Zevran for his part though, came and sat on the ground next to me. I was pleased by his closeness, and that he showed no shyness in claiming a spot at my side. Next to me on the bench, Wynne smiled so slightly I almost didn't catch it. Almost.

Sarel began weaving a tale about the elves of old, and I don't know if it was his voice, or purely exhaustion, or perhaps some form of magic held in the Elven tradition, but I quickly found myself relaxing, the fire warming my whole body instead of just my front. It seemed to seep in and soothe me, and I found myself feeling peaceful for the first time in a long while.

My leather armor had no leggings, unlike Lelianna's, so I should have been chilled by the night air on my bare skin, but I felt nothing of the sort.

For fifteen minutes we listened, slipping into calm complacency before it happened. I was shown a side of Zevran that I didn't think existed. And I wondered, if briefly, if even he knew what he was doing.

He leaned against my left leg, snaking a sun-kissed arm around it, and I felt his fingertips, lightly beneath the inside of my thigh. It should've been sensual I suppose, but it didn't feel that way. Something in me knew he just wanted to touch me, not to get a reaction, but simply for the comfort of being able to.

The skin on my leg was exposed by the thin flaps of leather that passed as the skirt, and in a few moments, his cheek was pressed against my skin as he gazed lazily into the fire in front of us. That was the odd thing, he didn't look at me, there was no sly suggestive wink or whispered lewd innuendo. To be honest I didn't know how to react.

Sarel continued his story as if this sign of affection was normal or even expectant of my Zevran, and Zev himself didn't change his mind, or retract from where he stayed, his head halfway in my lap, his fingers only barely gripping my skin.

I leaned forward slightly to find his eyes glazed over, half lidded by the calm tone of the elder, staring into the nothing that danced in the orange flame.

Tentatively, cautiously even, I lifted my hand, clad in fingerless leather gloves, and gently brushed back the blonde hair that had fallen forward over Zevran's exposed ear. In response, he tilted his face ever so slightly… and pressed his lips against my leg. A slow, deliberate, and ultimately sweet kiss. It wasn't lust I felt in those soft lips as they teased my skin. I actually felt _butterflies_.

I had always heard women referring to 'stomach butterflies', and now I had some of my own, a whole swarm of them beating violently against my insides, and understood that it wasn't a feeling you could easily describe. And just as calmly as he had kissed my skin, Zev returned to merely resting his head on me again.

And suddenly I felt it: The shift in me that no longer categorized Zevran as 'easy', and just 'someone to have a good time with'. I saw him as something else now, and I didn't know what it was, or what I could do about it. It scared me for a moment, even as I sat there, lovingly running my index finger back and forth along the ridge of his tanned pointy little ear. This new emotion had me smiling, but my lips melted again with doubt.

I was not supposed to see him this way. This is why I had chosen him, to avoid this sort of… complication.

"_I was raised to take my moments when I can."_

I remember thinking how cold it had sounded the first time he said those words to me, but now, I began to understand them. He hadn't been telling me that he might disappear on me at any moment; he had been trying to tell me that he understood I would have hard decisions to make in the future, and that wherever they might lead me, however dangerous or morally grey, he would be there as long as he could. And he would not regret our time together, regardless of how it ended.

I smiled as I gazed down on my assassin, and ran my fingers along the length of his ear, then delicately caressed his face, following the swaying lines of his Antivan tattoo as it stretched from his temple to just above his chin.

And later, when I lay with him back at camp after a slow and passionate hour, I couldn't help but continue to kiss him for a time, long after our hearts had regained their normal rates. And he let me, holding me in all the ways that made him Zevran, sensual, but sincere.

We never talked about what had changed, or when it had happened, when we had stopped using each other as tools for stress relief and started seeing each other as companions. But it wasn't like us to talk about such things anyway. I was content to just let things be and enjoy them while they were here, as I knew he was too.

And it had been a long time indeed since I had last been _content_ with my life…

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**Pwweeeease, review!? It is my first attempt outside of the Mass Effect world... :)**


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